


When The Vow Breaks, The Winchesters Fall

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Cheating, Coughing, Emotional Hurt, Fever, Forgiveness, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, M/M, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Sneezing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: It's all the dog's fault, really...
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, Alvinola! 
> 
> After a looooonnnggg wait, my lot for the 2020 FicFacers Auction is finally complete! So get ready for some good ol' Winchester-grade angst with a healthy dose of sick Dean and grumpy Sam. 
> 
> This is me, so, obviously, there's some upset tummy action included, but I will warn y'all this is HEAVY ANGST. So please do heed the tags and proceed with caution. 
> 
> That being said, I have decided to 'split' this into two parts. The first is the prologue (sort of?) and the second is where the sickfic comes in. I'll name the chapter where the sickfic starts Part II so it hopefully won't get too confusing.

Sam is screwed-- royally, impossibly,  _ Dean is going to kill him _ ,  _ might as well move to another country, no escaping his fate _ \-- screwed. 

Because he wrecked the Impala. 

It wasn’t Sam’s fault, really. He blames winter and icy roads and dumb dogs that don’t know to stay off the aforementioned roads, especially at night. 

Dean’s Baby, who had been in pristine condition, freshly waxed with all new tires and shiny rims, is now smashed into a tree, smoke billowing from under her hood. 

The blaring of her horn sounds like a cry of pain. An agonized wail alerting anyone who’ll listen of her mangled front end--It’s the same kind of pain Sam is going to be in when he calls his brother to tell him what happened. Because there’s no way he can drive the Impala back into town; she’s wedged herself in the tree trunk and she’s not going anywhere without the help of a tow truck. 

Sam’s been standing here, staring at the wreckage for over twenty minutes, freezing his ass off because he doesn’t want to make that call. 

He and Dean had a few disagreements this week-- petty stuff, really-- but now… Sam just knows as soon as he confesses, Dean’s going to assume he did it on purpose. To get back at him for the case documentation from their last hunt that may have possibly ended up drenched in lake water after Sam fell off of a boat. 

Again, not his fault. 

He was leaning over the side to keep one of the children from falling in when the driver turned a little too sharp. Sam saved the kid but unfortunately ended up taking an unexpected swim. 

When he climbed back in, with Dean’s help, of course, they discovered the etching Dean did of the symbol from the cave had been ruined, along with Sam’s notebook,  _ and _ their list of witnesses.

Dean's voice is casual- with a slight hint of big-brother worry- when Sam finally calls him. 

"Jesus, Sammy, I was startin' to wonder if you got lost. Where the hell are you, man?" 

Sam glances at the Impala then to the road. "I'm, uh, right outside of town…" He's trying to stay calm, but even he can hear the reluctance in his voice. 

Naturally, Dean isn't fooled.  _ "Sammy…" _

Though Sam can’t see Dean, he can easily imagine the creased brows and frown that accompanies that tone. It's Dean's version of puppy dog eyes and Sam is simply unable to ignore him. 

"...Yeah?" he says quietly. Maybe Dean won’t ask? If he doesn't ask, then Sam won't have to lie. 

_ Pfft, like he could anyway… _

_ “Unfortunately, it looks like I’m out of tequila. How about a beer, instead?”  _

Sam recognizes the feminine voice in the background as one of the witnesses they spoke to earlier. Something with an E? Ellie? Evelyn? 

“ _ Beer’s fine,” _ Dean’s answer is muffled-- like he pressed the phone to his chest so Sam wouldn’t hear. 

“Sam--You there?” 

Sam jerks to attention when Dean calls his name, but he can’t help but think about the owner of that voice--  _ Elizabeth _ . That’s her name. 

What is Dean doing at her house? Shouldn’t he be at the motel where Sam left him? 

“Yeah, I’m here-- Where are you?” 

“I’m at Lizzy’s.”  _ Lizzy...not Elizabeth.  _

There’s another muffled conversation then the sound of footsteps and the closing of a door. 

“What are you doing there?” Sam asks, pacing the cold ground. 

Should jealousy really be his main concern right now? No. But does that stop him from letting his brother know he’s upset about it?  Hell, no. 

_ Lizzy _ … 

Dean is his and he doesn’t share. 

Dean chuckles through the phone. “I’m sorry, is that  _ jealousy  _ I hear in your voice, Sammy?” 

Sam huffs. “No.”  _ Yes. _

Dean laughs again before saying, “Relax, dude. I ran into her at the bar and she asked if we could talk.” 

“Uh-huh,” Sam replies shortly. “And I’m sure that’s all  _ Lizzy _ ’s expecting-- Right? Just to ‘talk’?” 

“Okay, so maybe she’s thinking about more, but so what if she is? I know I sometimes use my ...skills... to help coerce female witnesses into opening up, but you know I would never actually do anything. The only bitch I want is you.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Sam snorts. He shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I know you wouldn’t,” he says, tucking a loose piece of hair behind his ear. “It’s just hard sometimes, you know? Knowing that you’re... _ you _ .” 

There’s a long pause before Dean responds. “For your sake, I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Sam hears him take a drink from the bottle Lizzy must’ve gotten for him. 

“Are we done with the touchy-feely stuff now?” Dean doesn’t wait for Sam to answer before he continues. “I know you didn’t call just for confirmation that I’m being a good boy so, what’s up?” 

Oh, crap. Right. 

Somehow, over the course of the last few minutes, Sam forgot about the wreck. Which just goes to show how powerful jealousy can be since he’s standing in front of it! 

Sam cringes and rubs at his neck. “Right, well, uh, I--” He glances back at the Impala and winces. 

“Sammy, what happened?” Gone is Dean’s joviality. Now, with Sam possibly in danger, he’s all business. “Are you okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” 

“What do you mean ‘You guess’? What the hell happened?” 

Sam takes a breath. He can do this. Dean will forgive him …Surely? 

“Well, uh, I was driving back and--” After a short pause, the words come pouring out of his mouth. 

“It’s really cold, here, you know? And the roads are getting pretty icy and maybe there was a stupid dog in the road so, maybe, just maybe, I kind of, sort of,  _ wreckedtheImpala _ .” The last part is mumbled in a rush, yet Dean somehow catches  _ every word.  _

He explodes after a suspenseful pause and though Sam shouldn’t be surprised, he jumps. 

“YOU  _ WHAT?! _ ” 

Sam winces. This isn’t Dean’s I’m-mad-but-happy-you’re-okay voice. His big brother is pissed and most likely will punch his lights out when he sees him next. “It was icy, Dean,” he tries to explain, “and this stupid dog ran out into the--” As soon as Sam says it, he knows it was the wrong thing. 

He hears what he guesses is Dean’s beer bottle smash against the wall before his brother snarls, “ _ You crashed Baby because of a fucking DOG!? _ ” 

Irritated mumblings take over and Sam imagines him pacing the floor. 

“Dean, I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t like I meant to! It just...happened.” Like an apology can save me now, Sam thinks morosely. He’s done the unthinkable. 

He waits while Dean takes a few calming breaths. 

“Were you speeding?” Dean finally asks his voice tense. “How is she?”  Dean’s words are curt as he works through the emotions caused by hearing his beloved car has been damaged by his little brother.  “Can you at least drive her back to town? If she’s undrivable-- I swear to  _ God _ , Sam…” 

Oh, boy.

“Well, uh, she’s sort of... in a tree.” 

“WHAT? What the hell did you do?! Drive her off a ramp?! What the hell, Sam!” 

“No, she’s not  _ in _ a tree, like, up in the branches. It’s just, her um, front end is sort of…” Sam knows he’s only delaying the inevitable, but really, who can blame him? 

“Her front end is _what,_ Sam _\-- What did_ _you do_?” Sam can practically see Dean narrow his eyes.

“It’s uh, stuck--crunched into the trunk of the tree...” 

Silence. 

“... Dean?” Sam halts his frantic pacing and quiets his breath so he can hear his brother’s response. 

  
  


_ *click* _

When Sam hears the dial tone, he curses. “Shit.” 

It’s not that he wasn’t expecting Dean to be furious, it’s just that, without Dean, he’s going to have to wait until someone passes by to get a ride back to town. 

He’s debating whether or not to wait it out in the Impala’s still-warm backseat when his phone buzzes. He lifts his hand to read it and sighs in relief when he sees Dean’s text. 

_ Where r u  _

Sam obediently trudges over to the road so he can tell Dean the mile marker number. 

After a few moments, Dean responds. 

_ Stay there  _

_ Tow truck on way _

It should be comforting to know that his brother’s still willing to communicate with him, but Dean’s preference for text and lack of emotion only increases Sam’s anxiety. 

Dean’s pissed and Sam’s in deep shit. 

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Dean should leave. He should just make up some sorry-ass excuse and leave Elizabeth and her wandering hands in this big, empty, old-as-fuck house. 

But he doesn’t. 

No, instead, he hangs up on Sam and, after calling a tow truck, heads back inside. 

The tow truck driver wasn’t too happy about being woken up in the middle of the night to venture out into the snow to save the Impala, but Dean didn’t give a shit. He is pissed. And when he’s pissed, he gets nasty. 

“Look,  _ buddy _ ,” he’d said, “I don’t  _ care _ that it’s one in the morning and you were sound asleep. What  _ I _ care about is the fact that my dumbass little brother just wrecked my car. My pristine, newly-waxed, car. So how about you get your ass out of bed and go do your damn job. You’re a tow truck driver, yes? So, go tow MY DAMN CAR!” 

Once the guy was efficiently terrified of the cold intensity in Dean’s voice, he assured Dean he would head out there right away and bring the Impala back to his garage. Where, by threat of death, he, nor anyone else, will lay a finger on her and leave her exactly as she is until Dean comes by in the morning to assess the damage. 

The screen door slams when Dean storms back inside, muttering to himself about pain-in-the-ass little brothers and stupid dogs who don’t have enough sense to stay off the damn road at night, in the winter. 

Lizzy instantly notices he’s no longer holding the bottle of beer he walked out with. She frowns from her spot on the couch. 

“Dean? Are you alright?” 

She’s got her feet tucked beneath her and a glass of red wine in her hand. The sweater she was wearing earlier has been discarded so she’s only in a tank top and her jeans. 

Dean’s jaw clenches as his eyes rake down her body. Nothing like Sam, she’s slim and manicured. Her waist is so tiny Dean could probably break her if he tried hard enough and the muscles in her arms are barely visible, unlike Sam’s thick biceps. 

The low scoop of Lizzy’s top rests on the swell of her breasts, tempting without being sleazy. She’s obviously done this before. She probably knows exactly how well her jeans accentuate the curve of her hips and the vee between her legs.

_ Don’t do it, Winchester… Just say goodbye and walk out the door… _

Dean pastes on what Sam calls his panty-dropping smile and settles on the couch beside her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He sprawls lazily, his legs wide enough that she can see the bulge of his dick against his leg. He drapes his arm across the back of the couch so the tips of his fingers can rest on her bare skin. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. Where were we?” 

Lizzy doesn’t look convinced, but she inches closer to him anyway. “You were telling me about the man who helped raise you-- Bobby, I think it was?” Her eyes follow Dean’s hand when he reaches for the whiskey bottle she set on the table while he was outside. 

“Oh, right. Yeah, he was a good guy. Looked out for us after Dad died.” Dean snorted before taking a swig straight from the bottle. “Hell, before then, really…” He doesn’t normally discuss Bobby with anyone but Sam so he isn’t sure why he’s telling her about him. 

He doesn’t need to convince her to sleep with him, she made no secret of her interest in him after he and Sam knocked on her door yesterday. 

_ This is a bad idea, Dean. She wants you. Her hand is on your arm and Sam’s already feeling jealous... _

“And you said, your brother, Sam, he’s the one who’s here with you?” 

At the mention of Sam’s name, a muscle in Dean’s jaw ticks. However, instead of ranting and raving about how he is going to murder his little brother when he returns to the motel, he sets the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and turns to face Lizzy.

“You want to talk about my brother? Is that why you asked me to come back here with you?” He brushes her hair away from her neck before he dips his head to kiss her there. One hand slides underneath the edge of her tank top and she shivers. 

“To talk about  _ Sam _ …?” Dean continues, his thumb stroking over her smooth stomach.  _ No chiseled abs like Sam. _

Lizzy sighs and bites her lip when he works his way up to whisper in her ear, “ _ I’m sure there are better things we could do...”  _ While he waits for her to answer, Dean moves on the couch so he can place his other hand on her waist. 

Instead of answering his question, though, he hears Lizzy set her wine glass down on the end table. 

She turns her face and Dean kisses her. Gently, at first, until he can get better leverage by kneeling on the couch cushion. One of her hands tangles in his hair while the other slides up his chest. 

As he deepens the kiss, she moans and Dean tells the little voice in his head to can it. Yes, Sam will be mad when he finds out. But Dean’s mad, too and maybe he wants Sam to feel the same pain. 

Never mind that in the morning, when the red haze of his anger has dissipated, Dean will be disgusted with himself. 

Dean picks Lizzy up and carries her into the bedroom as they kiss then lays her down on the fluffy pink duvet. His jeans are discarded on the floor along with her tank top and the short shorts she wore just for him. They don’t bother with foreplay, it’s obvious what they both want. 

When Dean slides into her, it feels wrong. There should be a muscled ass in his hands and his brother’s deep grunts, not dainty ankles wrapped around his waist and long, blonde hair in his face. 

_ Stop it! Don’t do this!  _

This time, the voice in his head sounds like Sam and he freezes above Lizzy, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Her brows crease and he almost pulls away... but then her hand touches his face and he remembers Sam’s description of the Impala. 

With an angry growl, he surges forward to capture her mouth as he fucks into her harder. A few moments later, her broken cries drown out whatever reason he had for leaving. 

* * *

When Dean quietly leaves a few hours later to begin the cold, snowy walk back to the motel a few blocks away, Lizzy is sound asleep in her bed, tangled up in sheets that smell like gun oil and guilt.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam wakes up in the morning, the first thing he does is roll over to check Dean’s bed. His heart sinks when he finds it still empty. It doesn’t look slept in at all. Sam rolls onto his back as his mind races with possible explanations for his missing brother before settling on Dean taking advantage of Elizabeth’s couch for the night. She probably noticed how upset he was and offered him a place to crash. 

Because there is no way Dean would actually... __

_ No. _ Dean wouldn’t. He may be mad about what happened to the Impala, but he wouldn’t stoop that low. He wasn’t unfaithful. 

Sam’s brow furrows as the fear creeps in. 

Swallowing hard, he swings his feet to the floor and grips the edge of the mattress, trying to ground himself. It takes him a few minutes of deep breathing before he can open his eyes. 

When he does, he spots the cup of coffee sitting on the table and heads straight for it, dizzy with relief.  _ Dean was here. _

Next to the still-hot coffee laced with wonderfully artificial-tasting syrup, there is a note. Sam immediately recognizes his brother’s familiar scrawl and smiles. 

_ Went to garage. Back later.  _

_ -D  _

His spirits fall as he reads it, however. Because as guilty as he feels about wrecking the Impala, Sam doesn’t think he deserves the silent treatment. 

He trudges into the bathroom and leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor before climbing into the stained tub. He angrily squirts shampoo into his hand and scrubs at his scalp with more vigor than necessary. 

It wasn’t even his fault! It was that stupid dog and the road conditions! 

What? Does Dean expect him to be able to control how icy the roads are?! 

When he gets out, Sam’s so angry that he almost chokes on his toothbrush while brushing his teeth. Not that Dean deserves minty-fresh kisses after staying out all night and worrying Sam half to death. 

He opens his laptop and pulls up the article he found last night while waiting for Dean to return. Sam sips at his coffee while he reads, his mood growing darker with each hour that passes. 

By the time Dean finally returns to the motel room around two in the afternoon, Sam has convinced himself that Dean and that blonde bimbo did it on every surface of her antique-filled house. 

He doesn’t look up when Dean stomps the snow off of his boots and even ignores the bag of food that appears in front of his face. He just slides it to the side so he can finish up the notes on a few possible demon-related deaths that took place over the last month in northern Ohio. 

He’s been researching it as an option for their next case, but honestly, with the mood he’s in, Sam would rather just head back to the bunker. He feels exhausted after the emotional rollercoaster of the last twelve hours and just wants his brother to forgive him so they can curl up together and sleep the next few days away.

Dean, however, doesn’t seem like he’s ready to forgive just yet. 

“Three days,” he grumbles, glaring at his brother from where he’s sitting on the bed. He removes his boots angrily, feeling satisfied when they thud loudly on the carpeted floor. He chucks his coat onto the chair before he turns to Sam with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well done, Sam--We have to stay in this fucking town three more days because _apparently_ , you can’t remember how to drive!” 

Though Sam flinches when Dean raises his voice, the guilt is gone. As soon as Dean walked in the door, he smelt it. At first, he tried to convince himself it was all in his head-- that his paranoia was making him see things that aren’t there, but with Dean sitting only three feet away, now, he knows he wasn’t wrong. It’s thick in the air, choking him as he tries to calm his racing heart. 

The sickly-sweet perfume Elizabeth had been wearing during their interview...

_ Dean smells like her _ . 

Angry, hurt tears gather in his eyes and Sam rises robotically, passing by Dean, who was on his way to the bathroom to take a shower, without a second glance. Sam slams the door and locks it before sliding to the floor, his shoulders shaking.

“Hey! What the fuck--Sam!” Dean shouts when his little brother shoves past him to claim the bathroom. He had a long ass day and all he wants is a fucking shower before he passes out in bed. 

He’s covered in grease thanks to lying underneath Baby all morning. 

Dean sighs as he walks back over to the bed and pulls out his phone to take a look at the pictures he took shortly after he arrived at the garage. 

Sammy really did a number on his best girl. 

The grille is ruined, her headlights have to be replaced, the front axle is busted, her radiator has a huge crack in it and the rim of her front right tire is mangled thanks to a flat tire. 

From the damage, Dean figures Sam hit a patch of ice when he tried to avoid the dumbass dog and lost control. The resulting fishtail caused Baby’s tires to veer off of the road and they ended up down the embankment where she hit the tree going somewhere between thirty and forty miles per hour. 

Depending on how fast Sam was going when he hit the ice, it could’ve been much worse.

Dean’s heart jumped into his throat when he saw the dash of the Impala shoved at least a foot into the front seat. 

Guilt rose in his throat when he imagined Sam lying hurt in the snow while he, asshole that he is, was busy with Lizzy. 

Thankfully, though, the worst damage was on Baby’s right side, where she must have collided with the tree. 

After driving the Impala for almost thirty years, Dean knows how hard it can be to regain traction when she loses control. There’s been many a time that Dean has had to pause after fishtailing on dark icy roads. Every time it happened, Dean would look over at his sleeping brother and feel tears in his eyes. 

Dean wouldn’t make it if anything happened to his brother, especially if it was because of something he did. 

_ You mean, like what you did last night?  _ A nasty voice reminds him.  _ Sam will never forgive you.  _

Dean clenches his eyes shut. Sam will forgive him...He has to. 

Dean is nothing without his brother, just a shell of who he used to be before Hell and the Apocalypse, Bobby and Cas, and fighting his way through Purgatory. Without Sam, he would still be lost to the Mark. 

He is the one who keeps Dean sane, reminds him that the things he’s done in his past don’t define who he is now. 

Who else but Sam will ever love a broken man like him? 

And yet, Dean threw all of that away because of a stupid accident! 

Dean storms over to the door after he shoves his feet back into his boots and grabs his coat. He wrenches it open and walks out into the snow, self-hatred fueling his path as he walks toward the liquor store. 

By the time he grabs a bottle of the world’s cheapest rotgut, he’s torturing himself by reliving every moment of last night. 

Remembering Lizzie’s pliant lips under his... 

Her legs on his shoulders and the no-longer-enticing smell of her vanilla perfume... 

Her cries of pleasure as Dean took out his anger at Sam on her willing body. 

Dean veers into a snow-covered alley and slaps his hand against the wall. Gasping for air as the reality of what he did sinks into his gut. Tears pooling in his eyes, he retches.

_ He cheated. _

As careless as he’s acted towards women most of his life, Dean made a point in adulthood to adopt a semblance of morality. Sure, as a horny teen, he didn’t care if he got caught playing the field, but as a man, he could no longer ignore the guilt he felt when he snuck out after a quickie in a barroom bathroom or tiptoed down the stairs so the sleeping kids wouldn’t hear mommy’s special friend escape into the night. 

He and Sam had barely dipped a toe into the incest pool when Sam left for Stanford, but Dean had done his best to hold out for his brother. It wasn’t until John brought back news of Jessica and how happy Sam was that Dean finally allowed himself to sleep away his pain. 

He worked his way through every town, fucking anything that so much as batted their pretty little eyelashes at him. But unless it was a threesome or a gang bang in a back alley, Dean made a point not to overlap his lovers. 

He never cheated. No matter if he was in town for one night or settling in for a longer haul. He was  _ always _ faithful. 

_ Until last night. _ When he broke his own silent vow over his little brother- the love of his life- wrecking his car. 

He pukes again.


	4. Chapter 4

The room is dark when Dean finally gets back and his heart seizes in his chest. 

_ Sam knows _ . 

Somehow his little brother found out what he did. 

Dean swallows hard before taking a tentative step towards his brother’s bed.  _ “Sammy?” _ he calls out softly, wanting to reach for him. 

_ “Is it because I wrecked the Impala?”  _ Sam’s voice breaks and Dean hears him sniffle. 

He pulls his hand back.  _ It’s not your fault. I’m an idiot. _ “Sam…” 

Sam turns to look at him over his shoulder. His eyes glisten with unshed tears though it’s evident by the dried tracks on his cheeks that he’s already cried. 

_ “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her, Dean...”  _ he pleads.

Dean can’t stand the look of betrayal in his brother’s eyes. He turns away. ”I was angry.”  _ I’m sorry. I love you. _

Sam’s eyes close tightly as fresh tears fall and he turns back towards the wall. 

“You called me and I heard how jealous you were. Then, you told me about Baby, and I--” 

“ _ Don’t. _ ” 

Sam’s voice brokers no argument. He doesn’t want to hear Dean’s weak reasoning.

“Sam, you have to believe me. I didn’t me--” Dean’s jaw snaps shut on the lie. Sam doesn’t deserve that.

Last night, Dean  _ did  _ mean it. He knew exactly what he was doing and he didn’t care. He just wanted Sam to feel his pain. Bile surges over the back of his tongue as he reaches for the whiskey. 

Dean walks over to the door, his vision blurring with tears. Whatever Sam does next, Dean deserves it. 

_ I’m sorry _ . 

It’s on the tip of his tongue, but then, Sam whispers something that steals his breath and Dean walks out into the cold, wishing he had the strength to walk away for good. 

Sam would be better off without him. Because all Dean can do now is beg for his forgiveness but what the hell good is one more useless apology? He did the deed. There are no do-overs.

It doesn’t matter that Dean wishes he could go back in time and slap himself stupid for even considering it. It was already done. He slept with Lizzie. He cheated on the only person in his life that has never given up on him. 

Dean raises the bottle to his lips and chokes down a mouthful of rotgut before he continues walking. He has no idea where he’s going, but maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll freeze to death while passed out in a ditch and Sam won’t have to deal with him anymore. 

It’s what Dean deserves. 

He hurt Sam worse than he ever has before. More than Gadreel, more than killing Amy, or selling his soul and leaving Sam alone to deal with the aftermath. 

He crossed a line, this time. One he can’t come back from. He can scream he’s sorry and beg at Sam’s feet, but there won’t be any salvation. This time, Dean can’t fix it. No matter how much he wants to-- that he would give anything to heal his brother’s broken heart. 

Dean wanders past the alley where he puked earlier and doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until the snow at his feet is red and his hand is numb from the cold, his knuckles bloody where he punched the frozen bricks. 

His knees buckle and freshly-fallen snow soaks through his jeans to wet his skin, but Dean doesn’t feel it. 

His heart stutters in his chest and he sobs as his brother’s final words replay in his mind. 

_ How could you do this to us, Dean? I loved you and you...  _ _ Fuck you, Dean-- I hope it was worth it.  _


	5. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On to the sick fic.   
> How will Dean ever make it up to his brother? Will Sam ever forgive him?

It starts with a headache. An annoying throb behind Dean’s right eye that drives him nuts, but isn’t anywhere near bad enough to warrant pain meds. Of course, Dean thinks nothing of it, instead attributing it to the fact that he and his brother can’t seem to be in the same room for more than five minutes before getting into a yelling match. 

And that’s only when Sam decides to speak to him at all.

Dean yawns as he sticks his shovel into the soggy ground so he can pop the collar up on his coat. It is pouring buckets, the temperature hovering just above freezing. 

It’s been three weeks since the hunt in Rochester. Since the night that Dean fucked everything up. He and Sam only speak during cases but even then, Sam casts scathing looks in Dean’s direction if he so much as sneezes too loudly. 

At the bunker, it’s not much better. Sam ignores him. Mostly holing up in the archives while Dean sulks in his room or snaps at Jack. 

Cas took off shortly after the brothers returned from Rochester when Dean lost control of his temper and tore into him about not responding to a text while he was out.  Jack knows something is wrong as well, but he’s been playing it safe and hiding out in his room. 

Dean has tried everything he can think of to get Sam to forgive him, but so far, it’s gotten him nowhere. 

He stocked the pantry with all of Sam’s favorite health food crap, acquired two of the rarest lore books that even Bobby couldn’t ever find, even pitched in while prepping for cases. 

But nothing, not one thing he did, thawed Sam’s cold resolve. 

Luckily, it seems that as long as Dean doesn’t try to bring up  _ them  _ or what happened with Lizzy, Sam is still willing to scope out potential vamps’ nests or drive down dusty back roads while on the way to yet another haunting in yet another cold, damp cemetery. 

…like the one they’re in right now. 

So, for the last three weeks, Dean has been running them ragged-- moving from hunt to hunt, desperate to mend things with Sam, yet having to settle for tense conversations about ghosts while standing beside him in creepy graveyards. 

An icy chill snakes down the collar of Dean’s coat and he shivers. 

“Alright, let’s light this bitch up so we can get outta here,” he says, breathing into his cupped hands. He rarely wears gloves, but he actually considered it for a full minute before they came out tonight. 

According to the local weather channel, there is a high chance of snowfall. Not that Dean particularly minds the dismal forecast-- if they get snowed in, it might give him the excuse he needs to get his brother to talk to him. 

When Sam silently reaches down to grab the canister of gasoline, Dean snatches up the bag containing their dwindling salt supply. 

They’ll have to stop by the hardware store on their way out of town-- providing there’s any rock salt left after the townspeople prep for the gathering winter storm. 

“Well, Candace Clearwater-” he says, shaking the bag over the open grave, “--wish I could say it’s been a pleasure. But honestly? I hope you rot in Hell, bitch.” 

Okay, so maybe that adieu was a bit much… but Dean is frustrated,  _ cold _ , and ready to leave this backwater town.

Beside him, Sam huffs- the universal signal for  _ Would you hurry it up? I’m freezing my fucking balls off out here _ \- and stamps his feet against the ground to keep warm. 

Dean digs around in his pocket for the book of matches. “Wanna do the honors, Sammy?” He looks over to Sam with a hopeful smile.

However, his brother resolutely ignores his outstretched hand, instead, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact. 

Feeling the ache in his chest grow a little bigger, Dean sighs.

He wants so badly to fix this. He misses his brother-- rolling his eyes when Sam warns him about his cholesterol or fighting for dibs on the first shower. 

Not to mention the serious case of blue balls going on in his jeans…

Dean can’t really blame him, though. He knows he fucked up. And if what Sam wants is time and space, Dean will happily suffer as long as his brother forgives him in the end. 

It takes him three attempts to strike the match, thanks to his frozen fingers, but once he does, he drops the matchbook into the grave. He smirks a little when Candace’s bones immediately go up in flame. 

_...Good riddance...  _

During the short walk back to the Impala, Dean feels the full force of his exhaustion settle in-- He hasn’t been sleeping well since Sam insisted they use separate beds. 

It’s been  _ years _ since Dean was forced to sleep alone, and no matter which way he turns or pillow he snuggles against his chest, nothing provides him with the all-encompassing warmth of  _ Sam _ . Not even whiskey (or the sleep aids he bought at the drugstore) can replace the comfort he feels while sleeping in his brother’s arms. 

Also, his distinct lack of appetite tonight is a little worrying. 

Dean usually feels voracious after a tussle with a spirit-- and mean ol’ Candace put up one hell of a fight-- but trudging through the muddy graveyard behind Sam, all Dean wants to do is shower and collapse onto the polyester sheets of their current digs. 

The drive back to the motel is eerily quiet. Dean spending it slowly realizing he may be more than just tired while Sam stares out the passenger window. He doesn’t glance at Dean once during the half-hour drive. 

When they get back to the motel, Sam heads straight for the bathroom after grabbing a clean set of clothes. And though Dean waits for him to ask about his bruised ribs or the small, yet deep laceration at his temple, he isn’t really surprised when Sam doesn’t say anything. 

His brother’s lack of concern stings, pouring salt into a wound Dean hasn’t thought about in years.

_ “I’m fine,”  _ he grumbles, walking over to his bed to gingerly sit down.  _ “A little woozy from the head shot and it fucking hurts to breathe-- But yeah, don’t mind me…”  _

Tired of feeling like dog crap on the bottom of Sam’s shoe and now recognizing the irritating tickle in the back of his throat is indeed the start of a cough, Dean sheds his jacket and works his still-laced boots off before laying down. He reaches up to snag a pillow to place under his aching head before closing his eyes.

_ Fine, if Sammy wants to pretend I don’t exist-- well, two can play that game. _


	6. Chapter 6

While Sam dries off in the motel’s meager bathroom, he checks over the various scrapes and cuts courtesy of tonight’s hunt. They aren’t too bad, most only needing a little antibacterial ointment to be considered good. 

Candace’s spirit mostly went after Dean while Sam dug up her grave. Even throwing Dean into a headstone at one point. 

Dean hit the side of it, probably bruising his ribs, if not cracking one or two, and he smacked his head on the smooth marble. It knocked the wind out of him for a good few minutes, but he rallied so Sam could finish digging the grave. Then, they used their shotguns to scare Candace off so they could salt and burn her bones. 

_ Dean probably has at least a mild concussion and he was definitely favoring his left side… _

_ No. Don’t go there,  _ Sam thinks angrily. _ Dean can take care of his own damn self.  _ He obviously doesn’t care about whether Sam gets hurt or not, so why should Sam? 

Walking out of the bathroom, Sam finds Dean passed out on his bed still fully-clothed. He is lying on his left side, careful not to put any extra pressure on his sore abdomen and definitely bruised ribs. 

Any other day, Sam would fondly roll his eyes and walk over to help him-- stripping Dean out of his dirty clothes and making him comfy on the bed, but tonight, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he ignores the pull of his brother’s distress to walk over to the small fridge and grab the six-pack waiting inside. It’s Dean’s Post-Hunt beverage of choice but  _ screw him _ . 

Popping the tab on the first can, Sam walks outside to check in with Cas and see how Jack is doing. He’d been able to convince Cas to stick around since Dean would be with Sam. 

Sam was relieved when Cas agreed since he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Jack on his own while they were gone. Their Nephilim has been fighting something off for about a week now. 

However, Castiel tends to get a little overzealous when faced with regular, run-of-the-mill illnesses like the flu, so Sam wants to make sure they’re both okay. 

He perches on the hood of the Impala and takes a long draught from his beer while he dials. 

“Hey, man. How’s Jack?” 

It’s well past two back in Lebanon, but since the angel doesn’t sleep, Sam doesn’t feel too bad about calling so late. 

In truth, Sam’s not really too worried about Jack. The kid has proven he can take care of himself pretty well over the last year and a half. He’s just using the call as a distraction. 

Because right now, every fucking bone in Sam’s body longs to be curled up next to his brother, sleeping off a post-hunt fuck instead of sitting out here alone. 

He aches with need-- wanting so damn badly to take care of Dean and soothe his brother’s obvious pain. 

But, he’s also still angry. 

What Dean did three weeks ago is still swirling around in Sam’s brain, feeding the slow-burning anger that’s been there for… Hell, probably since Dean decided he wasn’t worth the drive to visit him at Stanford. 

Dean has been peppering him with gifts and thoughtful gestures, trying to prove how sorry he is. But Sam can’t forgive him. Not yet. 

What Dean did with Lizzy… it wasn’t just the fact that Dean had sex with her that hurts. It was  _ why _ . 

Out of everything he could’ve done to show how angry he was, Dean chose to sleep with someone else. He could’ve punched Sam in the face or left him to find his way back home but instead, Dean fucked someone else. 

Knowing how hard Sam’s past relationships have been, what he’s endured-- from Jess and Madison to Ruby and Amelia-- Dean chose to reopen that long-festering wound by choosing someone else over Sam. 

He wanted to hurt Sam? Well, congratulations, he succeeded. 

Sam can barely stand to look at him. Every time Dean tries to make a lame joke, he has to turn away so Dean won’t see his tears. If Dean pulls him out of the way during a hunt, Sam flinches as though he’s been burned. The touch he used to crave now sears through his flesh as his mind throws up images of Dean and Lizzy together. 

For years, Sam has always felt like  _ he _ is the one trying to keep them together. Not physically, of course- Dean definitely has him beat there- but the emotional strain of their complicated relationship always seems to fall on  _ Sam’s  _ shoulders. 

And maybe it has something to do with how Dean was raised or the things he experienced in Hell, but he tends to treat their relationship like a joke most of the time, or a bargaining chip-- dangling his love for Sam in front of the younger man whenever he considered leaving it all behind. 

He used to believe that Dean only wanted him because he was lonely, but in the past five years, Sam thought he changed. Their life at the bunker softened Dean. He expresses his feelings more readily and isn’t afraid to hold Sam’s hand in front of Cas or Jack. He talks to Sam before jumping to crazy conclusions or trying to shoulder his burdens alone. 

But now… How can Sam trust him? Trust that when Dean falls to his knees and proclaims that he would do anything to go back-- that he’s sorry and he loves Sam more than anything in the world-- that it’s the truth this time. 

That Dean will never do it again. 

Sam angrily crumples the empty beer can in his hand and tosses it on the grass in front of their room, snatching up another as he listens to Cas’s long-winded explanation of exactly how many times Jack has blown his nose in the last twenty-four hours alone. 

The convo with Jack is lighter, yet still a little awkward. He tells Sam he’s doing better even though Sam can hear the raspy edge to his voice. And the kid sounds tired. 

He tells Jack to get better and to get some rest, that he and Dean will be home soon. 

When Cas gets back on, Sam instructs him to make sure Jack’s fever doesn’t too high and to suggest he take a shower tomorrow when he wakes up. Cas is doubtful that will help, but since Sam is the human who’s been through this before, he agrees. 

After speaking with both Cas and Jack, Sam lingers outside even though it’s cold enough that he can barely feel his toes inside his thick-soled boots. 

If he goes back inside, he’ll want to check Dean out, make sure none of his injuries are worse than they seem. And if Sam puts his hands on his brother, he’ll be hit with the longing-- The longing that he wants so badly to give into. 

But Dean fucked up and Sam isn’t ready to forgive and forget yet. 

Figuring it’s smarter to drink himself into a stupor  _ in  _ the car rather than while sitting on the hood, he pops the door open and crawls into the backseat. 

After locking it so he won’t fall out should he pass out, Sam props his foot on the seat and reaches for another beer. They’re ice-cold thanks to sitting outside in the snow while he talked to Cas and Jack, but the chilly bite feels almost refreshing as it goes down. Finishing off the can with long gulps, Sam tosses it on the floor and sighs. 

It’s just so much easier to stay mad at Dean when he isn’t in the same room as him. When he doesn’t have to fight the magnetic pull of those green eyes and the warmth of his breath on Sam’s skin… 

Adjusting his jeans as he cock perks up at the thought of his brother’s porn-star lips, Sam angrily opens another beer.  _ Dean cheated on me-- I can’t be turned on by him! _

Though the beer is no replacement for a glass (or several) of belly-warming whiskey, Sam quickly finishes off the six-pack. The cans end up strewn on the floor of the backseat, giving him a sense of evil glee as he imagines Dean finding them. 

Eventually, he decides he should probably try to get some sleep so Sam closes his eyes, wishing he could hear his brother’s obnoxious snoring instead of the quiet hush of snow falling outside. 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean wakes up to a chilly room, a stuffed nose, and no Sam.  _ Great _ , he thinks snarkily,  _ par for the course these days…  _

In desperate need of a shower and a large cup of coffee, Dean drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. While the shower heats up, he takes care of business then sits down on the closed toilet lid. 

His head is fucking  _ killing him _ , and for a moment, Dean wonders if maybe the spook gave him a small concussion on top of his other injuries. It wouldn’t be the first, and it definitely won’t be the last.

Once the shower is ready, he discards his dirty clothes in the corner of the room and steps under the not-quite-warm spray. 

He would give absolutely anything-- _ barring his Baby or his AWOL pain-in-the-ass little brother _ \-- to be back in the bunker right now. 

The ancient showers there impossibly  _ never _ run out of hot water and the water pressure is just hard enough to soothe achy muscles and slough off layers of grime without feeling uncomfortable. For a bunch of pussy-footed smart guys, they really knew what they were doing when they built the bunker. No small comfort was overlooked or forgotten. 

After spending about ten minutes under the rapidly-cooling water, Dean begins to shiver so he keeps it short, even skipping his pre-dawn jerk off in favor of scrubbing away all the dirt and who-knows-what from last night’s hunt. 

When he steps out of the tub, his vision blurs and he has to sit down on the toilet lid once again. Gripping the thankfully-still-in-tact towel around his hips with one hand, Dean uses his other to massage between his brows. His head hadn’t felt great before getting into the shower, but now, it’s throbbing, sickly pulsing just beneath his brow bone. 

Gritting his teeth as he tries to ignore the obvious signs that he’s getting sick, Dean brushes his teeth and attempts to shave. It isn’t his best work-- his hand trembling the whole time while his teeth chatter noisily-- but it will have to do. 

He does a quick run-through of his injuries before leaving the bathroom, determining that  _ yes, his ribs are bruised  _ and-

“ _ Son of a bitch…” _

\--Candace  _ did _ cause a mild concussion. 

When Dean walks over to his duffle to find his last clean pair of underwear and jeans, his nose twitches. He manages to ignore it until he’s sitting on the end of the bed with his fly undone. He slips his arms into the sleeves of his henley but has to pause as soon as he pulls it over his head. 

“ _ Heh- CHOO!”  _ He sneezes loudly, then sniffles miserably while he tugs his shirt down. 

_ Probably the kid’s bug…  _ he thinks wryly. Walking over to the sink, he gets himself a glass of water to soothe his throat which feels scratchy and dry. Reaching for the faucet, he once again notices the slight tremor in his hand. 

Mentally going through the meds they still have in their kit, Dean knows it won’t be enough to last through the hunt they discussed before leaving for the cemetery last night. 

He must tip his head back a little too far while draining the glass of water because he’s suddenly hit by a sickening feeling of vertigo. 

Blindly feeling for the chair at the tiny table while he attempts to keep the water down, Dean collapses into it and lets his head thunk onto the tabletop. 

Outside of the room, curled up in the backseat of the Impala, Sam wakes up half-frozen and dying for a piss. After unlocking the back door, he flings it open then grips the frame of it while his body processes the sudden change in elevation. 

Swallowing down a rush of stale beer, Sam groans as he hauls himself out of the car then stumbles over to the door to their room. 

A loud sneeze startles him and he curses as he loses control of his bladder for a moment. After twisting the knob, he bursts into the room with one hand jammed into his groin. He hobbles into the bathroom, forgoing closing the door in favor of undoing his jeans. 

When he bends over to open the toilet lid-- _ why the fuck is the damn lid closed?! _ \-- another small spurt of piss escapes. “Fuck!” 

Finally, he frees his cock from his boxers and is able to aim the powerful stream into the toilet. Sam moans loudly, the relief of draining his over-full bladder almost orgasmic. After he finishes, he washes his hands then surveys the damage. There’s a noticeable wet spot on the front of his jeans, but it isn’t too bad, considering. 

While he’s in the bathroom, he hears muffled coughing. 

Firmly reminding himself that his brother is a thirty-nine-year-old man who is quite capable of taking care of himself when he’s sick, Sam only spares him a brief glance when he walks over to his duffel. 

There’s no denying it, Sam thinks, carrying his clothes back into the bathroom to change-- Dean’s definitely sick. Even during the briefest of glances, Sam saw the redness around his nose, the tired slump of his shoulders, and the hand resting on his belly. 

But Sam is still mad at his brother, and until he’s not, Dean can handle looking after himself. 


	8. Chapter 8

Two hours later, the Impala rumbles into a gas station in Pennsylvania with one spare tire, two replacement headlights, a patched radiator, and two tired passengers. 

Dean’s been covertly turning up the heat every half hour while his fever causes chills to wrack his body, and so, is bundled up in his coat, scarf,  _ and  _ gloves while he waits for the pump to finish. Sam went inside to use the bathroom and grab a couple of snacks so Dean’s free to sniffle and sneeze to his heart’s content. 

He braces himself with one hand on the trunk when he feels the now-familiar tickle in his sinuses. His lips part... His nose twitches… 

“EHH--HUU!” A disgusting spray of snot lands on the car. “Oh,  _ gross… _ ” Dean says, using his sleeve to wipe it off. He gives the Impala a heartfelt pat. “Sorry, baby.”

Snorting back whatever the hell’s gunking up his nostrils, Dean walks over to the trash can to clear his throat into it then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

_ Fucking flu…  _

By the time Sam comes back out with two bags laden with what Dean calls ‘Road Food’--  _ he may be upset at his brother, but he isn’t heartless… _ \-- Dean is leaning against the still-dented car with his eyes closed. 

Instead of gently touching his arm or even giving Dean a quick peck on his cheek to wake him, Sam simply opens the passenger door, letting the Impala’s infernal creak do it for him. Not waiting to see if it worked or not, Sam busies himself with putting the bags in the car and pulling out the things he wants. If he doesn’t, Dean is liable to eat it all without a second thought. 

Dean startles when the Impala’s door squeaks loudly and he opens his eyes to find Sam’s ass sticking out of the passenger seat. 

A groan builds in his chest, but he doesn’t let it out, slightly afraid of what might happen if he does. But,  _ goddamn _ , those jeans hug Sammy’s frame in just the right way. Snug enough that they cup that delicious ass, but not so tight that Dean wouldn’t be able to stick his hand down the back of them. 

“Dean…” Sam tries to get his brother’s attention, but Dean’s eyes are hazy while he’s lost in thought.  _ Good thoughts, if the bulge in his jeans is any indication… _

Sam rolls his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Dean-- it’s finished.” 

_ How long has it been since he’s felt Sam’s skin under his hands… kissed his brother’s soft lips while settling his weight on top of Sam’s body…  _

“Dean!” 

Dean blinks back into focus, a blush that has nothing to do with his fever heating his cheeks when he realizes he’s been caught ogling. 

Instead of trying to come up with a lame excuse as to why he was blatantly staring at Sam’s beautiful body, Dean replaces the nozzle on the pump, then leans over to screw the gas cap back on.

He sways when he straightens up, and his hand reaches out for something to hold onto. With a gasp that turns into a painful cough, Dean’s fingers curl into soft-as-sin plaid covering a chest he would recognize even in the darkest, dankest corners of a monster-infested warehouse. 

_ Sam _ . 

Sam moved without even thinking when his brother lilted to one side. And now, with Dean holding onto him like he never wants to let go, Sam’s having a really hard time staying mad at him. 

He has one hand on Dean’s shoulder, steadying him while his brother hacks, the other laying limply at his side, itching to reach out and settle on Dean’s hip. 

Sam wants to hold Dean close and rub his back to help loosen whatever shit he’s trying to cough up… But he doesn’t. 

No, he just silently waits until Dean’s able to breathe again then, backs away until he can slide into the passenger seat and pull the door shut. 

_ What the ever-loving hell was that?!  _ Dean thinks while he watches Sam retreat into the Impala. For a second there, he had his brother back, but _ then…  _ Dean sighs. 

Feeling more confused than he was when he woke up this morning, Dean numbly follows Sam’s lead and gets into the car. 

By three in the afternoon, flurries are coating the Impala’s windshield and Dean’s condition has definitely worsened. 

When he finishes a particularly nasty coughing fit that ends up with him braving the cold so he can roll down his window to spit out whatever he coughed up, Sam starts to think that maybe ignoring his sick brother isn’t the smartest move. 

Dean sniffs deeply before wiping his forehead on his sleeve. He’s burning up in his coat, but he’s not willing to take his eyes off of the road now that it’s snowing. And while he’s fairly sure Sam’s  _ finally _ thawing towards him, Dean’s still a little wary about asking for his assistance. 

Sam looks over at his brother when he hears Dean gulp loudly. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his pale face. 

“Maybe we should find somewhere to stop…” he suggests, hoping Dean won’t be stubborn enough to insist on driving when it’s snowing  _ and _ he’s sick. 

“I’m fine,” Dean says, turning his head to cough into his shoulder. They both know it’s a lie. 

“Dean, seriously, man-- The snow’s starting to accumulate and we still have another six hours to go.” 

Dean’s jaw ticks while he considers Sam’s words. He  _ knows _ he should give in and find someplace to stay for the night, but even though he feels like warmed-over crap, he’d rather push on to get to the bunker so he doesn’t have to spend another night tiptoeing around his brother. 

Because now that he’s sick, Sam’s rejection hurts even more. 

Throughout Dean’s life, there’s only been one person he could ever count on--  _ Sam _ . Whether he was injured during a hunt with Dad or sweating through a fever like he is now, Sammy was always there to tell him it was okay. 

Sure, when he was really little, Mom took care of him and even Dad would rock him to sleep, but after Yellow Eyes, he and Sam only had each other to rely on. 

But now, Sammy will barely look at him and hasn’t once asked how Dean’s feeling or offered to drive so he can sleep-- and dammit--  _ that hurts _ . 

The frustration builds inside Dean, a hot pit in his stomach threatening to boil over, until- finally- he can’t take it anymore. 

The Impala’s tires slide on the freshly fallen snow when he jerks the car to a sudden stop. There’s no one else on the road-- the only people willing to risk the bad weather are two idiots in a big black car. 

Sniffing hard to hold the tears at bay, Dean shoves the car door open and gets out. Sam only follows when he sees his brother walking away from the car. 

“DEAN! What the hell are you doing? It’s fucking freezing out here!” Sam yells when he opens the passenger door. 

“ _ What do you care! _ ” Dean snarls without turning around,  _ “ _ You can barely even look at me, Sam.” 

“Dean, this is ridiculous-- Get back in the car before you make yourself…” Sam trails off, the weight of his words settling in his chest. 

_ That  _ makes Dean turn around. He stalks towards his brother, angry hurt flashing in his eyes. 

“ _\--Sick?_ _That’s what you were going to say, right?_ ” He shoves Sam hard enough to cause the other man to stumble back, then violently slams the passenger door shut. 

He sneers at his brother. 

_“_ Except you fucking _know_ I’m sick, don’t you, _Sam_ \-- But because of something I did almost a _fucking_ _month_ ago-- which I’ve apologized for a hundred times-- you just decided to ignore it! _Everything I’ve done for you-- Everything we’ve been through--_ And you still won’t forgive me _?_ You know how much I wish I could take it back, Sam! You know how fucking sorry I am, but it isn’t enough for you, right? Because after all the shit we’ve been through and how many times I’ve forgiven you, my apologies are never enough!” 

His strong right hook lands Sam on his ass in the snow. 


	9. Chapter 9

It only takes Dean a few seconds to realize how dumb it was to punch his brother. Not because Sam didn’t deserve it-- the bastard definitely earned the hit-- but because now, Dean’s chest is screaming where the movement jostled his bruised ribs.

The pain that lances across his right side makes him stagger back with tears in his eyes. He tries to breathe through it, but it’s like his chest is on fire. Dean falls to his knees, panting so hard saliva drips down his chin. 

If he doesn’t slow his breathing soon, he’s going to end up hyperventilating.

Seeing his brother in horrible pain, Sam crawls over to him. “ _ Jesus, Dean… _ ” He rubs Dean’s back with one hand while gripping Dean’s hand with his other. “Breathe, man… you have to breathe.” 

Squeezing Sam’s hand as tightly as he can, Dean finally releases the breath he was holding. “ _ Gah-- Fuck! S-ammy it h-urts. _ ” Dean’s words are fractured when he speaks. 

“I know it does, but you have to breathe, okay?  _ Just relax, Dean… _ ” 

_ “C- can’t…” _ Dean grunts. 

_ “Yes, you can...” _ Letting go of the last remnants of his anger, Sam pulls his brother into his chest and kisses his temple. “I'm right here, okay? I’m right here and _ I’ve got you… _ ” 

Relief washes over Dean when he hears his brother’s words. Overcome with three-weeks-worth of pent-up emotions, he buries his face into Sam’s chest and sobs. 

It feels so good to be held by his brother-- comforted by Sammy’s words and gentle touches. And Dean gives in, letting go of his stubbornness and felling the walls he built when Sam shut him out. 

The moment is ruined when his sobs turn into a coughing fit, which triggers a harsh gag. 

Sam maneuvers Dean so he’s facing the side of the road when the first wave of vomit sprays from his lips. His stomach contracts and the coffee he drank earlier sinks into the thick layer of snow in front of them. 

_ “Alright… You’re okay…” _ Sam whispers, kissing Dean’s shoulder in between the violent heaves. 

When his sudden nausea just as abruptly abates, Dean’s out of breath and utterly exhausted. 

They stay there, the snow dusting their coats and Sam’s hair until Dean nods for Sam to help him up. He groans when Sam deposits him into the passenger seat. 

After grabbing the large heavy blanket from the trunk, Sam wraps it around Dean and coaxes him to lean against him. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, turning on the wipers so he can see out the white-coated windshield. 

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? We’re going to find a place to stay until the storm passes and then, I’m going to take you home.”


	10. Chapter 10

The motel Sam finds is nothing special, but it has a vacant room and the girl at the front desk offers them extra blankets so he considers it a win. By the time he manages to get Dean into their room and all the bags out of the trunk, the snow is steadily falling. 

Exhausted after crying and getting sick, Dean lets Sam peel his wet clothes off and towel-dry his hair before he crawls into one of the queen beds-- Though Sam’s anger has faded, he’s still hurt by Dean’s infidelity so he isn’t ready to share a bed with him. 

Knowing Dean will probably sleep for a few hours unless his stomach acts up again, Sam phones Cas to let him know they won’t be back for at least one more day then plugs in his laptop and phone to charge while he’s in the shower. 

Feeling a little better, now that he’s no longer shivering in his wet clothes, Sam sits down at the table to send an email to one of the hunters nearby. Although Dean would probably try to push through if it was up to him, Sam forwards all of the information he gathered on the upcoming hunt so the other hunter can take care of it. 

Next, Sam pulls out every box and bottle of medicine they have to see what may be useful while they’re holed up. There is a half-empty blister pack of sinus cold medicine- which he immediately puts in the ‘yes’ pile- as well as a few throat lozenges, an assortment of gauze and bandages, several different bottles of various pain relievers, and a hot-cold pack. 

After lining up the cold medicine, lozenges, and a bottle of Acetaminophen, he puts the rest back into the bag. 

A chesty cough comes from the bedroom and Sam sighs. There isn’t enough here to last the duration of Dean’s illness, but hopefully, he can at least keep his brother comfortable for a day or two. If things get much worse though, he isn’t above calling Cas-- the angel could get Dean back to the bunker in no time. 

After gathering the minimal supplies, Sam walks over to Dean’s bed and sits down on the edge. He tests Dean’s fever with the back of his hand-- hot, but not dangerously so-- and shakes out two pills. 

“Alright, I found some fever-reducer and a thing of cold and flu meds. Why don’t you take the acetaminophen for now and try to get some sleep. I’m gonna head out to the drugstore I saw a few blocks away and see if they have anything more.” 

Dean immediately tries to sit up. “I’ll come with you,” he rasps with a yawn. 

Sam shakes his head. “Dean, no. You need to stay here so you can get rest.” 

“It’s snowing outside!” Dean argues. 

“Yeah, and it’s only two blocks. I’ll be fine, man.” 

When Dean’s worried gaze lingers on the small window, Sam leans down to press his forehead to his brother’s. 

“I’ll be okay.” 

_“You’ll come back…?”_ Dean whispers. 

“Of course,” Sam says, cradling his head. “I’ll only be gone twenty minutes.” He stands up and walks over to the door to grab his coat. “Any longer and I give you full permission to send out a search party.” 

Dean scoffs, though he appreciates the gesture. Sam rarely allows Dean to worry about his safety anymore, claiming that he’s old enough to take care of himself. But sometimes, Dean still needs that reassurance-- that he’s the big brother and Sammy still needs him. 

In typical big brother fashion, he feigns annoyance and rolls his eyes before getting comfy underneath the bedspread. 

“Hurry back. Hey-- try to get some of that good shit-- you know the cherry kind that makes my throat numb? That stuff’s awesome. And beer. And pie.” 

Instead of pointing out that beer and pie aren’t exactly at the top of the Get-Well-Soon list, Sam just smiles. 

“Sure thing, jerk.” 

With one foot on the snowy sidewalk and his other in the motel room, Sam turns back around. 

“Hey, Dean?” 

“Hm?” comes the sleepy reply. 

Sam stares at the lump on the bed-- his brother’s disheveled hair, red nose, and prominent freckles on his pale face-- and feels his heart swell with belonging. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“I forgive you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Alvi, sweetie, if you would like me to tweak anything, let me know ;) 
> 
> For the rest of y'all, thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome!


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